


Bad Catholics

by StanningJay



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Friends To Lovers, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Alternate Universe - drifted apart after high school, Angst, Engineer! Rhett, F/M, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Teacher! Link, Writer! Link, lost touch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanningJay/pseuds/StanningJay
Summary: This is my first attempt at a Rhink fic! The title & inspiration for this story come from the song "Bad Catholics," by the Menzingers.I recommend you give it a listen, though it's not technically necessary to understand the story :P. All the Chapter Titles will be lyrics snippets. Unless I run out? No idea how long this is going to be.In this AU, Link moved away for college and basically never came back to Buies Creek. He wanted to be a writer but is stalling creatively. With his current job as a teacher, he has summers off & decides to return home to get back to his roots and try to find his inspiration. He bumps into Rhett, for whom he used to carry quite a torch. The two drifted apart after high school and Rhett has settled into life back in Buies Creek. Link being back stirs something in them both.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal, Rhett McLaughlin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. There I Saw You

_There I saw you  
In the beer tent hangin'  
with your new husband and your baby on the way  
kinda strange how it made me miss something  
Long lost in the both of us now._

***

Link sighed, considering himself in the mirror in his childhood bedroom. He’d been back in town for twelve hours and he already felt wrong-footed and uncomfortable. At his mother’s urging, he’d agreed to accompany her to the annual church picnic.

“Everyone will be _so_ excited to see you! You’ll be able to catch up with all your old friends!” Her smile, so earnest and sweet, was hard to deny.

So, he’d come downstairs, showered and shaved, wearing a simple black vee-neck shirt, skinny black jeans and a pair of classic Chuck Taylor’s.

“You ready, Mama?” he’d asked, reaching his hands out to carry the casserole dish of party potatoes for her.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Link looked down at himself. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”

They stared at each other awkwardly for a beat before Link said, “I’ll go change.”

He left the jeans but pulled a checked button up over his tee, leaving it partially untucked against his better fashion judgement. After considering for a moment, he dug an old pair of workboots out of his closet and swapped them for the Converse. Link made a mental note to shop for some boot cut Levi’s to avoid any further fashion faux pas.

Link hadn’t been back to Buies Creek in over five years. He’d seen plenty of his mama, but she’d always come to visit him up in Boston where he taught freshman English at a private high school. It was strange—Link had never actually come out to his mother. She seemed to understand him well enough that an actual conversation hadn’t been necessary. He’d introduced her to his college boyfriend, talked about their relationship freely on their weekly phone calls. She loved making trips to Boston, spending holidays with him up there, first in his tiny Allston apartment and later in the house he’d bought outside the city. She’d never asked why he didn’t want to come back to Buies Creek anymore.

This was both a blessing and a curse, as this precise interaction was one of a thousand reasons Link had avoided coming home—and he wished he could explain that to her. Last night, as they’d driven back to the house from the airport, it had seemed like a good idea to rip the Band-Aid off, so to speak—have a few awkward conversations at the picnic, nod politely at some ignorant opinions, and hopefully the remainder of the summer would pass without incident. Now though, he was absolutely dreading it.

“His old friends,” as Mama put it, were people he all too willingly lost touch with after high school, most of whom had settled right here less than five miles from where they were born. Desiring to leave and move to Boston was enough to make him seem like a space alien to them—let alone well, everything else.

Link ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it up and wishing he’d had a chance to get it cut before seeing everyone in town, and went back downstairs.

“So handsome,” his Mama said, kissing him on the cheek.

Link forced a smile and lifted the casserole dish out of her hands.

The picnic was awkward but overall less painful than Link had imagined. Most of the townspeople were nice enough, but took a lot of care to avoid asking him about his personal life. Mrs. Thomas had asked if he was still single, and her friend Sally had not-so-subtly elbowed her in the ribs. Mrs. Thomas had flushed beet red and squeezed her lips shut, so Link had taken that as his cue to excuse himself to refill his solo cup at the beer tent.

Someone bumped into him as he filled his cup. 

“Sorry, brother,” said a voice.

“S’no problem,” said Link, turning toward the sound and nearly choked on a sip of beer. “Rhett!”

“Woah, hey there buddy roll!” Rhett McLaughlin’s face cracked into a wide, genuine smile when he realized Link was the person he’d bumped. “How the hell are you, man?”

Link felt himself blush as Rhett pulled him into a hug. Easy, unthinking. Familiar. “I’m well, Rhett, really well.”

“What’re you doing back ‘round here?”

“I teach now, so I get summers off—”

“Charles Lincoln Neal! As I live and breathe!” The happy bubble inflating behind Link’s navel burst unpleasantly. No one had called him Charles in years.

“Hiya, Emily.”

“Well, Charles, I’m glad to see you looking so well.” Emily Jones was just as pretty as she’d been in high school. Deep brown eyes and soft hair to match, she smiled up at Link, and he saw the sun glinting off the gold cross that hung around her neck. “I prayed so hard,” she said earnestly, fingering the cross, “that you’d find your way in the world. You seemed so adrift, we all always feared for you. Then you ran away to the big city and we all worried you were a lost cause! But He always lights the way home to those in need!”

She had to be fucking kidding. Unsure if she was being sarcastic, Link glanced at Rhett, about to roll his eyes conspiratorially when he caught another glint of gold: a wedding band on Rhett’s finger as the taller man scratched the side of his face.

It was like the air whooshed out of Link’s lungs all at once—Emily stood on her tip toes and planted a chaste kiss on Rhett’s cheek. “Honey, come on, they need your expertise at the smoker! Nice to see you again, Charles.”

“You too,” Link managed. Rhett smiled and turned away to follow his wife. “Hey—Rhett, wait!”

Rhett turned back.

“I’m in town for the while—wanna grab a burger tomorrow or something? Catch up?”

Rhett’s smile was like sun on water--blinding. He handed Link his card. “Sure…” he winked. “ _Charles.”_

***

Link adored Bible stories. Well, really, any stories. His mama had put him in Bible study camp summer before third grade because she worked all day, and it hadn’t been hard to get him on board—reading and talking about stories for hours? Sounded like a dream to him.

It was not, in fact, a dream.

They barely read anything in the class, and (in Link’s opinion) only talked about the most boring parts of the Bible.

“ _Charles!_ ”

Link startled. “Y-yes?”

“What is that you’ve got under the table?”

Hesitating, Link pushed his glasses up his nose. He decided he couldn’t get away with a lie. “A book.”

“What book?”

Link chewed his lip. “A bible.”

His teacher, Miss Kinsley, was not fooled. “Did you know lying is a sin, Charles?”

“I’m not lying,” said Link.

“Oh really? Then let’s see this, ‘bible.’”

Link pulled the book out of his lap. It was a book of Greek myths. Miss Kinsley seized it at once. “ _D’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths,”_ she read off the cover. “This certainly does _not_ look like The Bible, Charles.”

“ ‘ _a_ bible,’ I said,” Link snapped. “Not ‘ _the_ Bible.’ You told us last week that ‘bible’ means ‘book.’”

Miss Kinsley narrowed her eyes. She marched the book over to her desk and opened the drawer. She slammed Link’s book inside and locked it. “You can get this back when I’ve decided you’ve learned enough about the _real_ Bible. Since you have trouble paying attention, you can sit right up here by my desk to fill out your work sheet.” She pointed at the empty seat at the table right by the front of the class. The entire class full of kids twisted in their seats to watch Link’s perp walk, including the boy at the seat adjacent to Link’s new one.

Tears pricked behind Link’s glasses; he looked down at his shoes as he shuffled forward, embarrassed. Sitting down, Link pulled his worksheet sullenly toward himself and set about filling it in.

“ _Hey,_ ” said the kid next to him.

Link ignored him.

“ _Hey,_ ” the kid hissed again.

“ _What?”_

“You okay?”

Link sniffled, and nodded his chin slightly. The other boy didn’t say anything else for a while, but as Link focused on his Stations of the Cross word search, he heard him whisper, “That book seemed cool.”

Link’s trembling lips twitched into a tiny smile. He glanced at the kid beside him before darting his eyes back to his paper. “It is cool.”

“I’m Rhett,” said the boy.

“Charles.”

Miss Kinsey cleared her throat, so they snapped their attention back and worked in silence for a few minutes.

“You don’t really seem like a Charles,” said Rhett.

Link shrugged without turning his eyes. “My mama calls me Link.”

“That’s so rad,” whispered Rhett, excited, “Like from Zelda!”

“What’s Zelda?”

So it went that later that evening, Link sat cross-legged on the rug in Rhett’s bedroom, a Nintendo controller in his hand as Rhett coached him through the early levels of Legend of Zelda for the NES.

“This is my new friend, Link,” Rhett had told his mom when she’d picked him up after Bible study.

It was the first time anyone besides his own Mama had said the name, and hearing it in Rhett’s voice sent excited tingles all over Link’s body. How had he let anyone ever call him _Charles_?

***

Link waited nervously in the booth at DJ’s, the local diner. Every time the bell above the door chimed, Link jerked his head up to look for Rhett. He felt like he was on the verge of whiplash when finally, _finally_ , Rhett came through the door. He waved at a few of the locals, his eyes scanning the diner. When he saw Link, Rhett’s face lit up and he gave a cute little wave, hitting Link like a punch to the gut.

Rhett slouched and slid into the seat across from Link. “Hey, man,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Nah, no problem. Already got a head start on coffee.” Link nudged his mug with his elbow, not taking his eyes from Rhett’s face.

“Same old Link,” said Rhett.

The wave of nostalgia that Link had happily allowed to wash over him receded rapidly, leaving Link dried out. Exposed.

“Yeah,” he said, surprised at how cold his voice suddenly sounded. “Same old me.”

There was an awkward pause.

Rhett cleared his throat. “So, what brings you back to town?”

The real answer was that Link was hiding. When he’d graduated, Link swore that teaching would be his day gig, a way to earn money while he worked on his novel. He hadn’t even _pretended_ to work on his fiction in over a year, but a messy breakup had shaken him, and he’d run home to get away for a few months. Back to his roots. Back here.

Instead of saying all that, Link shrugged and arranged his face into a smile. “I get summers off, and it’s been so long since I’ve been home to visit.”

Rhett squinted, tilting his head to the side in a way that told Link that Rhett wasn’t buying his non-answer. Link cast around anxiously for a change of subject. “Your hair is so short,” he blurted. When Link and Rhett had been friends, Rhett’s hair was wild and unkempt. Now though—“You’re looking a little Hitler Youth, buddy roll.” Link clapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed; he’d slipped into a familiar teasing that he and Rhett hadn’t shared in years.

Rhett, however, threw his head back and roared with laughter. He had a mad, unhinged laugh that rumbled out, sudden like a thunderclap and rough as a bark. Link loved that laugh. There had been a time when he would have jumped off a building just to hear it. Several diner goers startled and turned toward the noise, and Link hid his smile behind coffee cup, trying to conceal the flush of pleasure creeping up the back of his neck and around to his cheeks.

“Yeah,” said Rhett, still chuckling. He ran a hand over his brutally short hair. “The wife didn’t like it so mountain-man. The beard neither.”

Link’s smile curdled on his face. “I always liked it,” he said before he could stop himself. “them. The hair. And the beard. I thought the feral look suited you.”

“Suited me then, maybe. Not now. Gotta grow up and be respectable sometime.” Rhett shrugged.

A waitress came to the table. Both men ordered burgers. Rhett ordered a strawberry shake to go with his and Link laughed. “Real grown up of you,” he joked. Rhett chuckled.

“Anything else?” asked the waitress.

Rhett glanced at Link and hesitated before saying, “Wait—do those come with tomatoes?”

“Lettuce, tomato and onions,” she replied, snapping her gum.

“No tomatoes on mine,” said Link hastily, “please.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

When she was gone, Link said, “You remembered I hate tomatoes.”

“Remembered? Good grief Link. I swear your tombstone’s gonna say ‘Link Neal: Loving father, treasured husband, hated tomatoes.”

Link laughed. The conversation flowed a little easier after that.

The food dwindled to crumbs on their plates as the two men reminisced. Rhett gently steered the conversation back to Link’s life in Boston at any chance he got, and Link evaded and equivocated, dancing around any personal questions and returning the serve to probe into Rhett’s life here in Buies Creek.

He was dismayed to learn Rhett had given up the guitar.

“Not given up,” Rhett clarified. “I just don’t have much time these days.”

“You used to love playing guitar!”

“I still love it,” he said defensively. “I just—”

“—grew out of it?”

The silence spiraled.

“Listen,” said Link suddenly, “I told my Mama I’d help her with her gutters today. Should be getting to it before the sun goes down.”

Rhett raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Okay, Link.”

They paid their check. Rhett stood and extended his hand. “I’m so glad you’re back in town. We can’t lose touch again, okay?”

Link’s pulse quickened as he grasped Rhett’s hand in return. “Okay.”


	2. Something Familiar When You Miss Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhett remembers some moments from his early friendship with Link, and hauls out a relic from their shared past.

_long for the words_

_with hearts and wings_

_something familiar_

_when you miss everything_

_***_

  
Rhett squirmed around in bed that evening after Link’s mom had picked him up. The closest thing his tiny body had felt to this was the feeling of lying in bed waiting for Christmas morning. He’d hung out with the kids from town before, but none of them were like Link. Rhett always felt separate from most of his peers at school, but it wasn’t until he met Link that he could put it to words. They were _boring._ Rhett smiled up at the glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling, thanking God that Link’s mom had moved to Buies Creek for work.

The boys had made plans to meet up at Church on Sunday, after finding out that their parents would be attending the same service, and Rhett could barely stand to wait. They’d just parted ways a few hours before and he already felt he had a million things to tell Link: jokes, ideas, drawings, questions about his favorite cartoons, dumb little songs buzzing around his brain—all of it made sleep seem impossible. So, Rhett began to hatch a plan. Link had arrived in Buies Creek to bring magic to Rhett’s summer—so Rhett was determined to bring some magic to Link’s. He was going to get his book back.

Rhett’s family usually sat in the same pew every Sunday morning, but in an effort to make Link’s mom feel welcome, they invited her to sit with them and the boys were left to their own devices. Rhett waited, bouncing up and down on his shiny dress shoes, for Link and his mom to enter through the rear of the church. As soon as he saw them enter, Rhett bounded up to his new friend, positively wiggling with excitement. Link waved shyly, blinking at Rhett from behind his thick glasses.

“Hiya, Rhett,” he said with a little smile.

Link’s mom positively beamed down at Rhett. “Rhett, I’ve heard _so_ much about you. It’s ever so kind of your parents to invite me to sit with them.”

“Sure thing Mrs. Neal,” said Rhett. “Link, a lot of the kids all sit in the balcony before Sunday School starts.”

Link looked at his mama, clearly asking permission. She nudged him toward Rhett. “Go ahead, honey.”

Rhett seized Link’s hand and dragged him up the stairs to the balcony. The picked a seat toward the back. The preacher called the service to begin; Rhett grabbed a hymnal from the back of the seat in front of them, opened to a random page, and indicated Link to share with him. The boys sat close, each nudging the other’s elbow, whispering and giggling while they pretended to consult them Hymnal.

Sunday school was torturous for Rhett as he watched the minutes on the clock tick agonizingly slow, a sweaty hand in his pocket clenched around a screwdriver he’d stolen from his dad’s workbench. Rhett purposely loosened his bowtie. Link shot him a curious look. Rhett shrugged. “It’s hot.” He tucked the tie into his desk and turned his attention back to the blackboard.

When class ended and everyone bustled around to get down to the reception and get their hands on sweet tea and doughnuts, the boys shuffled out with the rest. Rhett walked in silence, waiting until all the kids and Miss Kinsley had all filed out of the classroom toward the function room. About halfway down the corridor, Rhett gave a theatrical gasp and slapped his forehead. “I forgot my tie! I gotta go back and grab it.”

“Okay! I’ll go with you.”

“Nah, man, you go ahead. Snag me a jelly! I’ll be there in a bit.”

Link shrugged and moseyed on down the corridor, and Rhett doubled back to the classroom, flushed with the success of his deception. Working as quickly and quietly as he could, Rhett crouched under the desk and began unscrewing the bottom panel to the drawer he’d seen Miss Kinsley stash Link’s book. Finally, the metal rectangle fell free and Rhett reached in, closing his hands around the oversized, colorful volume. He brushed his hands over the cover with a smile, imagining the look on Link’s face when he gave it back. Rhett shoved the book under his jacket, and replaced the panel on the desk. As he ran for the door he grabbed the bowtie from where he’d left it and jogged down the corridor.

After the boys had positively begged their parents to spend the afternoon together, Rhett decided to show Link his favorite spot in the whole town, a big rock by the edge of the Cape Fear River. It was just a short jaunt through the woods, and while Rhett couldn’t be _certain_ he was the only one who knew about the place, he’d certainly never seen another soul here.

Rhett found himself strangely nervous as he brought Link to the spot. The June sun was bright, the river gushed happily, and the air was warm and fresh. The boys stood silent by the water as something unspoken passed between them. They’d both been to Church that day but this, here, now—this felt more sacred somehow.

“Here,” said Rhett in a hushed voice, unsure as to why he was whispering. He offered Link a boost, and the smaller boy scrambled on top of the rock, sitting cross legged once he found a comfy groove. Rhett looked around, and realized for the first time that there was a smaller rock just beside the larger one, and Rhett took a seat as well, facing Link—looking up into his bright blue eyes.

Link blinked in the sunlight, smiling. “I like it here. What d’you wanna do?”

Rhett traced the outline of the book under his jacket. He loved stories. One or the other of his parents would read to him every night, and whether it was brand new or one he’d heard a thousand times over, he loved every second.

Then, one day, a few months ago, Rhett’s father had declared that he was much too old to be read to every night. So, here, at his favorite place in town, Rhett slid _D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths_ out from under his jacket. Hands trembling, he handed the book up to Link.

“I was hoping you’d read to me.”

***

Rhett looked at himself in the lit vanity mirror in his bathroom. Emily was at her weekly book club, so he’d usually be taking this time to watch the NC State basketball game, do a crossword and watch late night TV till he dozed off on the couch.

Instead, he was contemplating his electric razor with some newfound intensity. He leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the patches of five o’clock shadow currently doing their best to escape the confines of his carefully groomed beard. His conversation with Link at the diner played over and over again in his head. Rhett’s fingertips brushed the stubble, nails scratching against the grain. He usually cropped his beard when the new growth began to itch, right about now. Rhett looked at himself in the mirror a final time before shoving the razor back in the drawer. He turned his back on the vanity and made his way back downstairs, bypassing the couch and the television in the den, feeling the pull of something in a half forgotten corner of his garage.

Rhett pulled the little chain to illuminate the single bulb above his work bench, shoving the usual occupants out of the way to make space. Reverently, Rhett laid the beaten up leather guitar case on the bench and clicked open the latches—the sound making him smile just as it did when he’d opened it the first time so many years before. The instrument inside was hideous, all told—scratched and bruised and taped up. Rhett brushed a casual strum across the stiff old strings, sending a tired sounding note and a puff of dust into the quiet air. Gingerly, Rhett wrapped his long fingers around the neck, supported the body with his other hand, and carried the guitar back into the house.

By the time his wife had returned from Book club, Rhett had co-opted the entire dining room table. He’d first tried to tune the guitar, but had nigh on immediately snapped the fine little high E. So now, he had all the strings removed and was cleaning the dinosaur as best he could, various cleaning supplies, plyers and rags strewn chaotically about the table.

“Hey, honey,” said Rhett, tongue between his teeth.

“Hi there,” she said, voice cautious. Her eyes took in the mess on the table. “What did you get into?”

Distractedly, Rhett examined the fret board of the guitar. “I had a mind to start playing again, but this old thing was so out of tune—I tried to tune it but…” he trailed off, turning to smile sheepishly at Emily. “Kinda got away from me.”

She smiled back at him, “Well, I’m going up to bed. Coming?”

“In a minute,” he said, his eyes already back on the instrument laid out before him like a patient on an operating table. “Just let me get to a good stopping point.”

Rhett was awake half the night, working till his fingers shook and his eyes swam with the fog of exhaustion, humming melodies to himself.

***

Link sat cross legged on the big rock by the river, a book open in his lap. He was reading aloud to Rhett from their summer reading list. Compared to their usual stories, it was boring. It was serious, slow, and worst of all _historical._

“The myth book was historical too,” Link pointed out.

Rhett rolled his eyes, curled up on the smaller rock. “Yeah, but that’s _fun_ historical. This is the worst.”

“Hush,” snapped Link, turning back to the page. “You haven’t read a single page of the reading list and school starts in two weeks.

It was the summer before sixth grade. Both boys were nervous to start junior high, but neither would admit it. Rhett was agitated. Even the soft music of Link’s reading voice couldn’t soothe him like it usually did. “Can we do something else?”

Link rolled his eyes. “No.”

Rhett groaned, loud.

“Rhett, you need to pay attention to this.”

“Who says?”

“I say.”

“Why do you get to say?”

“Because I’m on the big rock,” said Link. “So I get to say.”

“Well that’s crap, I _showed_ you the big rock. And _I’m_ bigger.”

“Well,” said Link, brow furrowed. “Maybe the big rock is for talking. The little rock is for listening.”

Rhett stared. “You _always_ sit on the big rock, though.”

Link smiled a smug little smile, adjusted his glasses, and flipped the book open. “Now, let’s pick up where we left off.”

“Wait,” said Rhett, getting an idea. “Can I see the book for a sec?”

Link frowned suspiciously, but handed over the book. Quick as a flash, Rhett tossed the book safely to the bank of the river and launched himself off the small rock directly at Link, tackling him backward into the water. As the chill wet of the river swallowed them both, Link howled. Rhett hauled him out of the water again, throwing his smaller friend over his shoulder.

“My glasses!” Link yelped suddenly.

Rhett released him and dove below with a splash, running his hands through the sand until his fingers closed around the hard plastic of Link’s glasses. He put them on his own face and climbed, soaking, onto the big rock.

“I win!”

“That’s bo-bo-bogus,” said Link, the second half of the word lost as he coughed up a mouthful of river water.

“You’re Bo-bo-Bogus,” mocked Rhett, blinking from behind the lenses of Link’s glasses.

Rhett hopped off the big rock. He crouched down in front of Link, removed the glasses and returned them to their proper spot, sliding them gently past Link’s ears. “Come on, Bo,” said Rhett. “Don’t make me study on my birthday.”

Link allowed Rhett to haul him to his feet. “It’s not your birthday.”

“Well, it’s my birthday week.”

Link shook his shaggy black hair like a dog, spraying Rhett’s face with droplets. “Yeah, but the real thing isn’t ‘till tomorrow.”

“Speaking of,” said Rhett, “What did you get me?”

“I didn’t get you shit.”

“You suck at lying.”

“Yeah, well, you suck at waiting.”

The sun was beginning to set, which meant the boys were due home for dinner. They scooped up their backpacks, and headed back through the woods, Nike shoes squelching with every sodden step.

“Same time tomorrow?” Asked Rhett as they reached the spot where they always parted ways.

“Duh.”

Rhett approached their spot the following day to see Link already sitting on the small rock. He had a huge box across his skinny thighs, his feet dangling down into the water. Rhett faltered. He didn’t know where he was supposed to sit.

“Uh, Link?”

Link grinned. “Will you just get on the big rock, Stupid.”

“Am I reading to you today?” Rhett asked, unable to pretend he didn’t notice his birthday gift on Link’s lap.

“God, no.”

Rhett hopped onto the big rock, and Link handed him the gift. “Happy Birthday, Rhett.”

Rhett could barely contain himself as he tore through the clumsily taped up wrapping paper. Inside the box was leather guitar case. The soft, satisfying click as Rhett unlatched the case caused a catch in his throat. Rhett lifted out the beat up old guitar and looked down at Link, speechless.

Link looked embarrassed. “I hope it’s okay. It’s not a really good one. You said you wanted to play. I dunno I thought you’d like it but I can—”

“Shhhhh,” said Rhett, cutting off Link's stammering. “That’s the listening Rock now, remember?”

Rhett shifted to put the guitar in the proper position in his lap and began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So whoops I already decided to take a chapter title from a different song than Bad Catholics, but this one is also by the Menzingers, and it's from the same album. It's called Your Wild Years and it is DOPE


	3. You Were Such A Looker in the Old Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link shops for some clothes to help him blend in during his impending summer in Buies Creek and runs into Rhett.

_You little Kerouac,_

_always runnin’ like Dean and Sam_

_always waitin’ on a freight train_

_always lookin’ for a story to tell._

_But that was the old you,_

_you were such a looker in the old days._

_***_

Since Link was planning on spending his whole summer in Buies Creek, he figured he’d better do some shopping. The closest mall was three towns over, so he hopped in his car and drove, fiddling with the radio dial because he didn’t remember any of the stations. 

The car was an old one, a classic Chevy that he’d bought after scrimping and saving his birthday money and lawn mowing wages all through high school. He’d left it behind when he went away to college, but of course his Mama has kept it nice and snug for him in the garage, taking it out once in a while so it wouldn’t fall into disrepair. It creaked something fierce whenever he opened the door to get in or out, a familiar sound from his teen years that made him smile.

Link wasn’t sure where to begin his shopping excursion, so he started as he usually did in most things and bought a coffee. He stood sipping it, looking at the brightly lit mall directory.

“I’m just seeing you everywhere, huh?”

Link startled and looked to see Rhett coming toward him, a fistful of shopping bags clutched in his hand. “Hey, man.”

“What brings you here?”

“Just kinda realizing I don’t have a great wardrobe for a summer in Buies Creek,” Link said. “You?”

Rhett frowned, but said nothing. He hastily shoved his bags behind him. “Just needed to pick up some things.”

Link couldn’t help peek as Rhett tried to hide the bags from view, and the Guitar Center logo was too obvious to miss. “Thought you didn’t have much time to play anymore?” Link asked, brows raised.

Rhett blushed, just a hint of pink on his tanned cheeks. “I guess I found some time.”

Link grinned, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Well, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta get some clothes and I have no idea where to start.”

Rhett joined him in looking at the directory. “I’m all done with my errands,” he said. “I could help, if you like.”

Link tried his best to ignore the squirm in his belly. He smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d love that.”

They went from store to store, trying things on. After the third place without having any clothes seem to pass Rhett’s scrutiny, Link began to get frustrated. He enjoyed shopping, but never in his life did he think he’d have such a hard time picking out domestic denim, plain crew neck tees, and checked button-ups. 

“What gives, man?” He finally snapped, catching Rhett’s wrinkled nose as he emerged from what felt like the hundredth dressing room. He had on straight legged jeans, a fair bit wider in the leg than he’d usually buy, a plain brown belt and loose fitting plaid button up. Link knew he wouldn’t be turning any heads in the bland outfit, but he also didn’t think he looked half bad.

Rhett tossed his hands up. “I dunno,” he said, sounding exasperated. “Why do you wanna buy this crap anyway?”

Link gestured at Rhett, similarly garbed. “We’re wearing basically the same outfit.”

“That’s the problem,” said Rhett. He stood up and closed the distance between them. He plucked at the edge of Link’s shirt with a long fingered hand. “You don’t look like you.”

Link stepped back, crossing his arms. “Kind of the idea,” he muttered. He looked away.

“You never cared about that when we were kids.”

Link shrugged. He retreated back into the dressing room, slipping back into his own things. Rhett was still talking on the other side of the curtain.

“You always had  your own ideas of what to wear, and you always looked good. Dunno why you’re suddenly here thinking you gotta change that.”

Link felt his heart hammer a bit faster. He pulled back the curtain, brows raised. “You think I looked good?”

Rhett rolled his eyes, giving Link a poke in the chest. “Don’t know why anyone would be buyin’ shirts that tight if they didn’t know they looked good in ‘Em.”

Link had to fight to keep his face steady, and left the mall without buying a single thing. Rhett walked him out to his car, where he stopped dead in his tracks. “I can’t believe that thing still runs.”

Link chuckled, opening the door. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“If that thing doesn’t catch fire on the drive home.”

As he watched Rhett retreat in his rear view mirror, Link finally let loose a face splitting grin.

***

Freshman year of high school found Rhett mad to be kissed. He and Link had wordlessly agreed through junior high that chasing girls was a waste of time, so it shocked Link right to his core to find out the Rhett’s desire for a girlfriend had emerged with a vengeance. He really didn’t see what all the fuss was about, but Rhett seemed enthused, so Link did his best to be supportive. 

Despite the fact that discussing girls and romantic tactics now occupied a fair amount of their conversations, Link was relived that Rhett’s new obsession with getting kissed didn’t alter their routine all that much. They still did everything together, still had not a whole lot of interest in their other classmates. Then, disaster. The winter term began and with it Rhett’s father’s insistence that Rhett go out for basketball.

He made it onto the team, of course he did. So, now Link had to grapple for Rhett’s attentions with not only the vague notion of “girls” but the very real notion of him having basketball practice four nights a week.

Link could tell that Rhett didn’t love the grueling practice schedule. He didn’t say it out loud, but with the early darkness of winter nights came a darkness with Rhett’s mood. When he’d leave the gym to the pitch black of November evenings, feeling the day was lost, he’d be surly and irritable, even with Link, who always waited patiently by the bike rack for Rhett so they could ride home together. 

However, the school announced a Winter formal dance, and with the spangled banners in the hall came an uptick in his best friend’s mood, so Link allowed himself to be drawn into Rhett’s elaborate plans to get his gangly arms around a pretty girl at the dance and finally get his kiss.

They shopped for their suits together, Rhett embarrassed to have to shop at the Big N Tall for a suit that swallowed his towering but lanky frame. Link opted for a white blazer over a tuxedo t-shirt and dark jeans. Rhett rolled his eyes at Link’s choice. “You look like the world’s biggest dork,” he said. “At least I won’t have to worry about you getting all the pretty ones.”

Much to Rhett’s chagrin, however, one of the pretty ones asked Link to the dance the following Monday. Surprised but pleased to have a date—thinking that Rhett would spend the whole dance occupied anyhow—Link said yes, and now joined in Rhett’s scheming with his own enthusiasm. Rhett still didn’t have a date, but neither boy was truly concerned about that.

After lunch, they headed to geometry, talking animatedly about the dance, rapidly approaching that weekend. Rhett and Link set their bags down and Mr. Tarbour said “Alright, guys, books away pencils out.”

Rhett blanched. “We have a test today?”

Link already settled his meticulously sharpened pencil in the groove in his desk. “Yeah, bo,” he hissed. “I figured you knew!”

“You usually remind me when we have a test!”

“I’m sorry! You been so busy lately...”

Link concentrated best he could on his paper, hearing Rhett’s grunts and groans and frustrated muttering beside him. When Mr. Tarbour finally said pencils down, Link knew the test had not gone well for his friend. The bell rang, and Rhett’s forehead was down on the desk. “Come on, bo,” said Link. “We have study hall.”

“I definitely bombed that,” Rhett groaned. “My Pop’s gonna kill me.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think,” Link said kindly.

But it was worse. Rhett stared at the judgmental red “F” on his paper the following day, knowing he’d get an earful when he got home. Being on the basketball team required a certain grade point average, and Rhett knew his father would be furious that he could jeopardize his future like this.

So, Rhett found himself grounded the weekend of the dance. He was thoroughly miserable, and sore with Link, whom he blamed for some reason that Link couldn’t quite fathom. They barely even spoke in school the Friday of the big dance, eating lunch side by side in silence and going their separate ways when the afternoon bell rang.

Rhett lay on his back in his bed, watching his clock tick, imagining the sparkly lights in the school gym and glaring at his new suit hanging on the back of his closet door. It was late, dark and quiet, leaving Rhett alone in bed with his surly thoughts.

A tiny tap at his bedroom window scared him half to death, and he looked out to see a familiar blue-eyed, bespectacled face peering at him. Rhett crossed to the window and let Link in. “How’d you get up here, bo?”

Link shrugged and set down his backpack. “Climbed the tree.” Rhett noticed he was wearing his outfit for the dance, complete with a red boutonnière pinned on the lapel of his jacket.

“What are you doing here?” Rhett whispered. “Why aren’t you at the dance?”

Link grinned, taking items out of his backpack. A few strings of Christmas lights, the lava lamp from his bedroom. He plugged everything in, giving Rhett’s room a soft, twinkling glow. “Figured it wouldn’t much fun without you, so I brought the party here.”

Rhett rolled his eyes with a grin as Link took a boutonnière out of his bag, identical to his own, and pinned it to the front of Rhett’s white cotton t shirt. Last, Link pulled a portable radio from his bag, set it in Rhett’s desk and switched it on, the volume low enough to be almost inaudible.

Link gave an exaggerated bow and held out his hand, “May I have this dance?”

Never one to back down from one of their bits, Rhett stepped forward eagerly, laying his palms against Link’s skinny waist. Link gripped Rhett’s shoulders with nervous, sweaty palms. They swayed to the soft music, silent for a while, Rhett in his t shirt and plaid pajama pants, Link in his suit jacket and jeans.

“Sorry this isn’t exactly what you hoped for,” Link said after a while.

“How d’you mean?”

“Well, for one, you didn’t get your kiss. For two, I’m sure you were probably picturing dancing with a pretty girl.”

“Nah,” said Rhett. Link noticed that his voice had dropped an octave or two, throaty and deep. “You’re pretty enough for me.”

Before he could so much as blink in surprise, Rhett had moved his hands from Link’s waist to cradle his face and pull their lips together. Link’s eyes were wide at first, before they fluttered shut behind his glasses. Rhett’s kiss was clumsy, sloppy, urgent—Magical. When he drew away with a little smile and carried on swaying to the music like nothing had happened, Link felt like he finally understood what all the fuss was about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title came from “Lookers,” by the Menzingers.


	4. That was the Old Me and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhett's doing some painting at home and his wife sends him to pick a color. He gets Link's advice.

_"Lost in a picture frame,  
the way our bodies used to behave,  
the way we smiled in the moment  
before it permanently froze,  
but that was the old me and you--  
When we were both lookers."_

***

It was another week before Link ran into Rhett again. He was shopping for a new gas can for his Mama’s lawn mower and saw a giant frame in the paint aisle that could only belong to one person.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Rhett turned to Link with a warm, but distracted grin. He was staring intently at the wall of paint chips.

“Doing some painting?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he sounded frustrated. He reached for a dull beige square and picked it up. “A little overwhelmed by all the choices, though.”

Link watched as Rhett stared at the beige paint chip in his hand with a frown on his face like it was a Tupperware from the back of his fridge with something funky growing in it. 

“You in need of some guidance, buddyroll?”

Rhett turned to face him, a pleading look on his face. Link could not help but notice the wiry golden brown hair of his beard had started to get a bit shaggier. The thought that he’d taken Link’s advice made him a bit flustered.

“Uh,” he stammered.

“This color?” Rhett held up the pathetic sample.

“Well, that’s hideous,” said Link bluntly.

Rhett sighed, equal parts frustration and relief. “Exactly what I thought, but I wasn’t sure.”

“What kind of room are you painting?”

“The living room,” he said. “The wife said to bring home some samples of ‘neutrals.’”

“Well, that’s fair,” Link allowed, thinking that the Rhett he’d grown up was anything _but_ neutral. “But there’s a difference between ‘neutral’ and ‘blah.’”

Rhett laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You guys getting new furniture, or trying to match what you’ve got?”

He frowned. “Actually, I have no idea.”

Link tried very hard not to roll his eyes. This stank all over of some kind of passive aggressive test. Send Rhett out to pick a color and then rip him a new one when he didn’t bring home the right thing. Of course, Link was basing this on absolutely nothing—perhaps he was just projecting. “Well, maybe you should find out before you pick.”

Rhett scratched his head, considering. Then he set his jaw and his stormy stare intensified, like maybe he if he concentrated hard enough the wall of paint chips would burst into flames. “I just have to pick something,” he said.

“Well,” Link said carefully, “My advice would be to go with your gut.”

“Go with my gut?”

“Yeah. Just, clear your mind, look at the colors, and grab what speaks to you.”

Rhett scowled at the paint chips.

Link grinned at the look of fierce concentration on his face. “Well, man, I gotta take off. The shop closes at eight, just so you know.”

Rhett huffed, and Link clapped him on the shoulder before heading to the check-out line.

***

They never spoke about their private Winter Formal in Rhett’s bedroom. Link thought about it nightly, but was scared to bring it up. He had to imagine that the only reason Rhett kissed him was to practice, so that when he got his hands on a real live girl he had at least _some_ technique. That had to be it.

Link stayed awake late almost every night thinking about the kiss, his stomach in knots and his heart pounding, feeling like he was losing his mind. Every night by the time he’d exhausted himself to sleep he was determined to forget about the kiss, but every morning when he woke up it was the very first thing he thought about.

He tried very hard to rewire his brain, to refocus. He made a list of every girl in their grade at school to try to pick one he liked. Plenty of them were nice enough, pretty enough, but he had to make himself think about it, where he couldn’t _help_ but think of kissing Rhett.

Rhett, however, seemed to be experiencing the opposite effect—his obsession with finding a girl to date now doubled. Link found it easier to merely agree with Rhett about the relative hotness of whatever girl—classmate, neighbor, or celebrity—on whom he was fixated that particular week.

After a month or two of this, Link had to face the facts. He was a pragmatic sort of boy, and there was no denying that thinking about the kiss with Rhett had him some type of way. There was no denying that he had zero interest in any of the girls he knew, or any he saw on television, or even the ones he saw in the Playboy he swiped from the neighbor’s mailbox when they were on vacation. 

There was no denying that he liked boys—that he _like_ liked them. It made him feel a bit ill, but also had him a bit excited if he were being honest. He felt ashamed, but having a secret from everyone was sort of thrilling. Link knew what they said in church about this sort of thing, but he didn’t act on it. In a way that meant it didn’t really count, right? Instead, he just thought about it, a _lot_.

It hurt, hiding it, but he did an okay job tamping it down. The problem was, he felt like he was lying to Rhett. He’d never done that before, so that made him a bit queasy when he thought about it too hard. But it was alright, really. The boys studied together nightly, spent every weekend together, and nothing really changed, except the way Link found himself looking at Rhett, and trying not to.

Despite Rhett clamoring on and on about finding a girlfriend, he didn’t seem to put much effort into the actual hunt. He still spent all his time with Link. In church every week, Rhett and Link sat in the balcony and snuck away as soon as they could to their secret spot on the roof. They sat shoulder to shoulder against the modest steeple and chatted, giggled, told jokes, and snuck back to their seats before mass was over. None of the other kids in the balcony seemed to notice or mind that they were gone. This suited them just fine. Rhett and Link were Rhett and Link, and they were as disinterested in the rest of the school as the rest of the school was with them.

One week in early spring, Link arrived in their designated pew to find that he’d beaten Rhett there, which was quite odd. His parents usually arrived early enough that Rhett was bored stiff by the time Link arrived. He sat in the pew, and waited, and waited. People filed in around him, Mass started, and still no Rhett. Link peeped down over the edge of the balcony, and sure enough he saw the back of Rhett’s parents’ heads. He frowned. Maybe Rhett was sick?

Or maybe he’d already snuck off to their spot. Link excused himself, slinking out of the pew toward the hall. They’d learned way back in elementary school that the “Do Not Open Door or Alarm Will Sound” sign at the end of the corridor was only there for show. He pushed it open, and snuck through the maintenance room toward the metal ladder that lead to the trap door in the ceiling.

He pushed, opening the trap door to peer out and hopefully catch a glimpse of Rhett.

And, he sure as hell did.

It took Link a second for his mind to actually translate what his eyes were seeing. Sitting in _their_ spot, was Rhett, skinny arms wrapped messily around someone blonde, mouth moving like he was trying to eat her face. Moans and any myriad disgusting noises came from the pair as they writhed and groped each other. Link found himself sickly fascinated for about thirty seconds, then he just felt sick. Shaking like a leaf, he climbed back down the ladder, nearly stumbling as he missed the bottom rung.

He walked back down the maintenance corridor in a fog and left the church to walk home without a backward glance.

***

Rhett continued scowling at the pant sample wall at the hardware store, for all the good it did him. He stood there for about fifteen minutes after he watched Link leave, feeling disgruntled and out of sorts for a reason he couldn’t really put his finger on.

He realized he’d crushed the awful beige paint sample into a crinkled ball in his fist. He stuffed it into his pocket and considered the wall in front of him. Scratching at his new, longer beard, Rhett tried to do what Link had advised. He took a deep breath, ignoring the employee behind the paint counter who was very pointedly not staring at him.

_Go with your gut_ , Link had said. Well, Rhett’s gut was not reliable lately.

Nothing had really happened, but in a place like Buies Creek, even a little bit of nothing could turn everything upside down.

After Rhett’s talk in the diner with Link, he’d spent a few days whipping his old guitar back up into shape, and found that playing guitar wasn’t at all like riding a bike. His fingers were stiff and aching, and his chord transitions were awkward and slow. He had to think each time he moved the tips of his fingers to press the strings, where before they’d seemed to have minds of their own. Rhett had always had a knack for learning songs, and even noodling out fresh melodies of his own, extemporaneous playing that seemed to exist only to make him smile. Now, he felt like he had to think each note through, worry over it, argue with it.

For some reason, the playing was driving Emily bonkers. She didn’t say anything but her lips would press into a tight line, and she’d leave the room. He ignored it best he could and kept playing. Now that he’d picked up the battered old instrument again he felt like he didn’t ever want to put it down. Rhett chalked up Emily’s frustration to the fact that Rhett just wasn’t as good at the guitar as he’d used to be. He lost the thread of melodies part way through, starting trying to remember the riff of a classic song and then diverting down a path of strange notes that didn’t fall together in any real way.

Last night, he had just started to think he had something that made sense when he’d glanced up and see his wife glaring angrily at him over the top of her book. Then he’d faltered, losing what he’d only just managed to brush up against.

Rhett shook himself, and as he came back to the present, he realized with a start that his hand was moving on its own toward the paint chips. He tried to mind his business and let his hand do what it had set out to do, and before he knew it, he had a paint sample clutched tight in his fist. The strip of cardboard was crumpled and sweaty by the time he got home.

“Hon?”

“Kitchen!”

Rhett ambled into the kitchen, feeling weirdly sheepish.

“You were gone so long I thought you’d given up on—What?” Emily had turned around to spy Rhett’s guilty expression. She frowned. “Let me guess, you didn’t pick a color.”

“No, I did,” said Rhett. “Here.”

He held out the little paint sample. Instead of a dull neutral, Rhett had followed his gut, had let it select the color to which he was truly drawn.

Rhett had selected a clear, icy blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took another chapter from the song Lookers, because I love it! Y'all should listen to the Menzingers.


End file.
